


Intimate

by diemarysues



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Requested for by a friend, based on a list of the 5 most intimate things you can do for someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intimate

1\. Hold their hair back while they vomit

 

“Gaius. You should rest.”

 

The court physician looked up, his smile tired. “Merlin.”

 

“How’s he doing?”

 

They both looked at the Prince, his face twitching as he slept fitfully. The candlelight caught the film of sweat on his face. It was the result of accidentally eating rotten food, rather than being poisoned, but the court still worried. (Merlin still worried.)

 

“He’s vomited all the medicine I’ve tried to administer so far. He’s been asleep for an hour, the longest stretch since he first fell ill.”

 

Merlin put his hand on Gaius’ shoulder. “You should go to bed. I can watch over him.”

 

“You’ve been running errands all day.”

 

“And I’ll be running errands tomorrow. I’ll be fine. You get some sleep, old man.”

 

Gaius did heave himself out of the chair, grumbling as he did so. After leaving instructions on what symptoms to worry about, he patted Merlin’s shoulder, wishing him a good night. Just before he headed off, though, his grip tightened once, briefly. He shot Merlin a serious look.

 

“I won’t,” the young man said. “I swear.”

 

“You’d better not.”

 

Sheesh. How stupid did Gaius think he was, anyway? He wasn’t about to use magic on Arthur when there was a real possibility of him waking up midway. Besides, Gaius had assured the King that this was something Arthur’s body could overcome on its own. There was no point risking his safety (and destroying the future of Camelot in the process).

 

Hours passed, and Merlin was just considering getting another book from Gaius’ collection when Arthur jolted awake.

 

“Sire? How are you feeling?”

 

The Prince didn’t answer; he looked up, his face tinged green, and Merlin lunged for the bucket by the bed.

 

Without really thinking about it, Merlin found himself sitting beside Arthur, helping him steady the bucket between his knees. He let the Prince hold on to the bucket as he leaned over it, and he had one hand rubbing circles into Arthur’s back. His left hand was pressed against Arthur’s clammy forehead, holding blond hair out of his face.

 

He lost count of how many times Arthur gagged and coughed; after the initial throwing up of the medicine, he continued to dry heave for long minutes. Merlin’s stomach clenched in sympathy, and his palm was firmer in its circling.

 

Finally the heaving stopped and Arthur fell back on his pillows, panting. Merlin discreetly retrieved his right hand, and pushed back more of Arthur’s hair. He wondered if the Prince leaned into his touch, but that was probably due to delirium.

 

“Water?”

 

A weak nod had him scrambling to his feet, placing the bucket on the floor. He quickly poured the water and returned to Arthur’s side, holding the goblet to his lips, watching carefully for any gagging.

 

“Feel better?” He knew from experience that ‘better out than in’ was true in these circumstances.

 

“Mmh.”

 

That was probably a yes. Merlin got up off the bed, setting the goblet on the bedside table, and stooped down. “I’m going to go wash this out,” Merlin said, gesturing to the bucket in his hands. “I’ll try to be quick, but if you want to vomit again, try to hold it in?”

 

Arthur had enough strength to shoot him a thoroughly unamused look.

 

 

2\. Give a scalp massage

 

“Merlin, are you sure about this?”

 

He wasn’t, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. “Of course I am.”

 

“Can’t we just go with my plan?”

 

“Oh, yes. Because you can fight with your hands cut to ribbons and I’m secretly brilliant at fisticuffs.”

 

“Alright, alright, no need to get snarky.”

 

Merlin sighed, and poured the contents of the pot into a large wooden bowl he’d pinched from the nearby village. He added water and mixed to get the paste to a smooth consistency. “I know you’re not the type to go into hiding for two weeks, but we don’t have any choice.”

 

Arthur didn’t reply, but Merlin was peripherally aware of the Prince flexing his fingers. He was probably inwardly cursing losing his gloves prior to having to hang off a rock cliff with his bare hands.

 

“Come along, sit here.”

 

“Why can’t I do this myself?”

 

“Because one, you won’t be able to see everything and will end up with patchy hair,” Merlin sat on a stool behind Arthur, “and two, getting this on your palms will sting worse than lemon juice and salt combined.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Merlin smiled to himself and scooped up a handful of the hair dye, hoped it wouldn’t cause Arthur to go bald, and dumped in on the Prince’s head.

 

A hiss. “That’s cold!”

 

Serenely ignoring this, as he usually did, Merlin continued with his work. It was times like this he wished that Arthur knew about his magic (and was fine with it), so that he could heal Arthur and just return to Camelot. Instead, they had to hide out here, being as unobtrusive and unrecognisable as possible. Hence, the dye. He scooped on some more.

 

“Is it really necessary for you to rub it in like that?”

 

He frowned. “I have to make sure all your hair gets dyed.” He did, however, let his movements turn gentler. Comfortable silence fell over the two of them, and Merlin allowed his mind to wander. Not that his mind focused on anything more than the crackle of the fire and the slick strands of hair sliding through his fingers.

 

It took him a moment to realise that he was no longer rubbing dye into Arthur’s hair; Merlin was instead just massaging his scalp, digging his fingers into his cranium. It was strangely soothing, and he figured that it was perfectly acceptable so long as Arthur didn’t say anything.

 

It took him a few more moments to realise why exactly Arthur wasn’t saying anything.

 

Even with all the magic in the world, it would’ve been impossible to prevent the smile that crept onto Merlin’s face. When his fingers involuntarily stilled, Arthur – still asleep – made a noise of complaint and shifted, his head unerringly pressing against Merlin’s long fingers.

 

Well…it wouldn’t hurt to keep massaging.

 

 

3\. Tie your shoe

 

“Sire, your father is getting impatient and – whoa!” With reflexes honed from being in Arthur’s service for years, Merlin ducked in time for the heavy boot to fly over his head instead of smashing into his cheek. “Sire?”

 

“Go away, Merlin.”

 

The warlock weighed his options. Tell Uther that his son refused to join him for a hunt, or deal with Arthur in a bad mood. He retrieved the boot and shut the door behind him. “What’s wrong?”

 

Arthur, who’d flopped backwards onto the bed, made an annoyed sound. “I told you to go away.”

 

“We both know that’s not going to happen.” Merlin leaned up against the bedpost and smiled sunnily at his master. “And we both know how annoying I can be, so just tell me. What’s wrong?”

 

Arthur had his eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth downturned, like he was seriously considering hitting Merlin. Not an uncommon expression on his face. Finally, though, he sighed, rubbing at his forehead with his right hand. “Icantputmbootson.”

 

“…pardon?”

 

The Prince sat up suddenly, holding up his bandaged left hand. “I can’t put my boots on because – because I can’t tie my bootlaces, alright? Because of this stupid injury, I can’t do something a two-year-old can do, and without my riding boots I’m not going hunting. Go tell my father, I don’t care anymore.” He fell backwards again, covering his face with his arm, continuing to grumble under his breath.

 

It was all rather overdramatic, really.

 

Merlin smiled, shaking his head a little. “Silly clunch,” he muttered, going to his knees.

 

“What did you say?” Arthur frowned as he felt movement by his feet. “Merlin, what –” He raised himself onto his elbows.

 

His manservant tied off the bootlace in a neat bow, and tucked that bow securely away in some invisible fashion. He looked up, amusement clear despite his deadpan face. “If you’ll point your toes so I can get this boot on, Sire?”

 

Arthur did so dumbly. An odd sort of helplessness flitted through him, having Merlin lace his boots. It wasn’t something he’d had other people do for him since he’d been a very young boy. He felt his cheeks heat up as embarrassment filtered in as well; he was a grown man, a Prince; he didn’t need servants – or anyone, really – to do something as facile as this.

 

And yet he knew that embarrassment wasn’t the only reason he was blushing – although he didn’t know _what_ that other reason was. It made him feel funny in his stomach and chest, almost ill.

 

“There we go. It shouldn’t unlace itself; I’ll come up when you’re back and untie them, shall I?”

 

“Yes. Do that.” Arthur gruffly cleared his throat and got to his feet, grabbing his dagger on the way.

 

His manservant didn’t answer, shaking his head. He wondered if Arthur would actually let him help remove his boots, if his pride was irreparably damaged or not. He’d be sure to know when the Prince returned to the castle, in any case.

 

“Oh, and Merlin?”

 

He turned to see Arthur hovering awkwardly at the door. The Prince met his eyes and shot him a half smile. “You know.”

 

Seeing as that was the closest thing he would ever get to a “thank you”, Merlin merely grinned, and bowed.

 

 

4\. Pop your zits

 

“Put your head on my lap, Sire, or I can’t help.”

 

Muttering under his breath about how “this is stupid” and “can’t believe I’m letting you do this, Merlin”, Arthur did grudgingly do as directed. He tried to ignore the warmth of Merlin’s thighs seeping into the back of his head and stared unseeingly instead at the ceiling.

 

This visit was a purely social one; Uther had sent Arthur in his stead, to cement ties with the new rulers of the neighbouring kingdom. It was only their third day there and Arthur was yearning for Camelot.

 

The late afternoon had been spent with the king’s eldest daughter, Alana. Usually Arthur would’ve been charmed by her beauty if nothing else; but he instead found his attention wandering, thoughts of what trouble Merlin was getting up to distracting him. Now he had time to himself before dinner…and after his nap he’d discovered something.

 

“This may hurt.”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Merlin, I’ve been stabbed and God knows what else. A little pimple isn’t going to bother me.”

 

He could see Merlin making a mocking face, before he felt fingers on his face. “Keep still.”

 

“How many times do I have to tell you that _I_ give the orders –”

 

“Shush!”

 

Arthur pouted, and fell silent.

 

For about two seconds.

 

“Ow!”

 

“Don’t move, you clot!”

 

“You,” Arthur said accusingly, “are being deliberately –”

 

“I told you it would hurt –”

 

“Is this to get back at me? Is it?”

 

Merlin’s expression was one of supreme apathy. “Just sit still, or you’ll have to go to dinner with this thing in the middle of your forehead.”

 

“Fine, but I – ow, ow, _ow_!”

 

“There.” He was shot a smile as Merlin patted his head in a patronising fashion. “Go wash your face, the swelling should go down before –”

 

He didn’t get to finish the sentence, because Arthur shot up and proceeded to wrestle him into submission.

 

 

5\. Clean something off of your face

 

Arthur fiddled with the high collar of his stupid tunic. He wasn’t in the mood for a stuffy feast and entertaining aristocracy; all he really wanted was a quiet night to himself to…mull over things.

 

Merlin gently slapped his hand away and straightened his collar, before going to fetch his dress belt.

 

The Prince frowned at the dark-haired manservant’s back. Merlin was the cause of most of his confused and confusing musings; Arthur had noticed things. Things from even weeks and months back. Things that made him question first his sanity and then Merlin’s. Little things.

 

Domestic, intimate things.

 

Caring over him while sick. Massaging his scalp. Tying his bootlaces. Getting rid of a pimple, for goodness sake. These were the ones that stood out; there were countless other examples, if he cared to look for them.

 

The awareness of these things was supposed to disturb him, surely?

 

“There we – oh, wait. Hang on.” Merlin produced a clean handkerchief from somewhere and dipped it into the basin of water on the table. He then held Arthur’s chin with one hand as he brought the damp ‘kerchief to his face.

 

“Merlin, what’re you –?”

 

“Smudge on your cheek,” replied Merlin, wiping at the offending mark, and apparently oblivious to the sudden tenseness in the air. After half a moment (in which Arthur’s heart thudded annoyingly in his chest), he stepped back, pleased. “There. All ready.”

 

Arthur bit the inside of his lip.

 

“Something wrong?” Merlin quirked an eyebrow, and Arthur decided that if he ever needed to follow his instincts, this was the time.

 

He swooped forward and pressed his lips against Merlin’s. He didn’t know whether to be surprised or annoyed or relieved when soft lips pressed against his, and he didn’t really care. A heartbeat passed, and then two, and he pulled back.

 

“Merlin.”

 

“Sire?”

 

“…thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want a link to the article: http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/the-5-most-intimate-things-you-could-do-to-somebody/


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